


The Deduction of Dr. John Watson

by Lefaym



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2010-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson cannot hide anything from Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deduction of Dr. John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lionessvalenti and fera_festiva on LJ for the betaing.

"My dear Watson," said Sherlock Holmes as the first light of morning fell through the window, "surely you know by now that you can hide nothing from me?"

I shifted uncomfortably in the unfamiliar double bed. Since my return to England, I had grown unaccustomed to sleeping beside another, but the inn at Erlestoke, where we had come to investigate Holmes' most recent case, had only one room to spare.

"Why," said I, "should you have any reason to believe that I am hiding something from you?"

Holmes chuckled. "You forget, Watson, that I have had an entire night to observe you, and it is impossible, after such an opportunity, that the motive behind your every action should be anything but transparent to me."

"Pray tell then," I said, with some agitation, "on what basis have you formed your conclusions?" Although I feared—quite rightly—that Holmes had, indeed, deduced my most intimate secrets from my nocturnal actions, I could not pass up any opportunity to see his brilliant mind in action.

"It is quite simple," Holmes said. "You rest now on your side, turned away from me, with your legs drawn in close to your body, which tells me that you are disinclined to show your face, and I perceive that your shoulders are rigid, which suggests that you are filled, at this moment, with a nervous tension."

"This is not an uncommon posture for a man's sleep!" I objected. "And as for nervous tension, that may well be the result of the details surrounding Professor Abythwaithe's murder, which you yourself have admitted are uncommonly gruesome."

"That is quite impossible," said Holmes. "The gruesome details of our current case do not explain why you have not yet turned to face me. Furthermore, your current posture contrasts sharply with your earlier languid repose, when your loose limbs and gentle smile told me that you were enjoying what must have been a rather pleasant dream. I conclude, therefore, that the good Professor's murder is not weighing heavily on your mind."

To my shame, I had to admit that Holmes was correct; my earlier dream had quite pushed all thoughts of the case from my head. "Nonetheless," I said, no doubt speaking from guilt as much as obligation, "surely we should now turn our attention to today's investigations, that we might resolve this case as quickly as possible."

"Not at all! I received quite enough information from the vicar yesterday evening, and I have spent the better part of the night forming my conclusions. I am quite certain that the killer will be apprehended by mid-afternoon, but there is nothing more I can do until we interview Miss Gratham at noon. No, I confess, Watson, that at this moment, I am far more intrigued by the nature of your most recent dream."

"I can hardly see why that would be of interest to you," I said stiffly.

"Can you not? Why, I had thought it would be quite obvious to you. As I have already noted, your dream seems to have been a remarkably pleasant one, yet it has clearly caused you to react as a man distressed—and just as clearly, I see that you do not wish me to know the source of your distress. Therefore, I must ask myself, what sort of pleasant dream can produce such a reaction in a man?"

"I have no doubt that you shall soon tell me," I said, though I felt my insides twist with fear as I spoke, for I was certain that, had Holmes deduced the true nature of my dream, our friendship should be sorely tested.

"In most men," Holmes continued, almost as though I had not spoken, "I should conclude that the dream featured a beautiful woman, which had then precipitated a physiological reaction that we are trained, from a young age, to hide from all save that one individual with whom we enter into the state of matrimony."

At Holmes' words, I began to relax. "That would seem a most reasonable conclusion," I ventured cautiously, as I finally allowed myself to turn and face my friend.

"Indeed," said Holmes. "I am afraid, however, that it is also a flawed conclusion, for you, my dear Watson—you are not most men."

I froze at Holmes' words. Although my inclination was to turn away again, I could not tear myself away from my companion's steady gaze. I felt heat rise to my face, even as my stomach turned to ice. I should have known better, I told myself, than to think that I could conceal the nature of my feelings from a man such as Holmes, and now I would pay the price for my carelessness, for I was certain that this revelation would bring an abrupt end to the stimulating intercourse that had so enlivened my days since I had taken lodgings at 221B Baker Street.

"I am a fool," I said bitterly.

Sherlock Holmes laughed at that, but there was no malice in it; indeed, I had never before heard so gay a sound pass through his lips. "Certainly, you are a fool," Holmes said, "though not for the reasons you might imagine."

"Whatever can you mean?" I said, shocked out of my frozen state by my friend's most perplexing reaction.

"You see how easily I have ascertained the reasons for your peculiar behaviour this morning. For the sake of honesty, I must now tell you that I have been aware for some time that your affections for me have transcended the realm of mere fraternal _philos_. Your feelings have been quite transparent to me for some time."

I did not need to ask Holmes how he had become aware of my affections. Now that I had as good as confessed all to him through my actions, I recalled a thousand incidents that, before Holmes' sharp eye, must have laid my soul bare to him.

"Why did you say nothing sooner?" I inquired, though I found it difficult to form the words.

Had he, I wondered, been building a profile on me? Perhaps the opportunity to study the habits of one who desired to engage in acts termed as _gross indecency_ was so alluring to Holmes that he had set his revulsion for men such as me aside?

"Watson, Watson," said Holmes, a small smile playing about his lips. "I can see even now what you are thinking, and it astounds me that, although you are an intelligent man, your powers of perception are so very limited."

"I admit," I said, "that I am most confused."

"How can you have not noticed," said Holmes, his voice a mixture of exasperation and affection, "all the signs I have left for you? Have you been completely insensible to the way that I have returned your private glances, and requested private rooms at our favourite dining establishments? Did you never wonder why I asked you to listen to my ruminations on the Huffington case as I sat in my bath?"

Holmes' words had stricken me dumb, and I could only shake my head as a warm glow of hope began to spread its way through my body. The incidents to which Holmes alluded were all burned vividly into my memory, but I had never dared think that Holmes' motives had been anything but innocent.

Holmes shook his head, and gazed down at me from his position, sitting upright on the bed. "In answer to your question, Watson—my dear, dear Watson—I did not confront you about your feelings earlier, because I had hoped that you would confess them to me of your own accord. But when it became clear to me that my attempts at encouragement had failed, I saw that I would need to take more forthright action."

"I really am a fool," I said, repeating my earlier statement, though this time there was wonder, rather than bitterness in my voice.

"Indeed you are, Watson," said Holmes. "Indeed you are. Luckily for you, however, it is a flaw that, in your particular case, I find most endearing." With those words, Holmes reached across and took my hand in his.

"I am glad of it," I said.

Gathering all my courage, I pulled Holmes towards me, and I found that he came gently, repositioning himself on the bed beside me with ease. The hand that had held mine rose to my cheek, and then Holmes' mouth pressed forward against my own, and I had no more thoughts that I can record in writing for quite some time afterwards.


End file.
